“I voted”

The air was brisk at 6am when I woke up. I had my window open about two inches to offset the blast from the heater, and to let in some fresh air. Of course, this also means that I went to sleep in full legged pajamas and fuzzy socks. Happiness, as you know, is a warm butt and cozy toes.

I wasn’t planning on voting this early, but since I was up, might as well. I got dressed, grabbed the card with my district number, and went on my merry way. My voting site is not very far away. Perhaps a five minute walk. I walked by two small dogs as I got closer to the middle school. I saw a bit of a line, so I hopped on. Strangely enough, the person behind me in line is someone I knew at work while they were doing their residency (yes, I’ve become that nurse that knew doctors during their residencies).

The line moved pretty smoothly. My whole total voting experience was only one hour, but after the peaceful thirty minutes of outside line standing, we came to a screeching halt at the front entrance. Two persons ahead of me in line was a woman who wasn’t wearing a mask. She said it was for medical reasons. I don’t know if that is true, and it’s not my role to diagnosis her. I didn’t even see her in fact because I don’t actually like staring at commotions. I feel like it eggs on whoever is causing said commotion. The poll worker was very upset that the woman wasn’t wearing a mask. Here’s where it gets fishy. The woman was then saying that she had a right to vote, and they couldn’t keep her from voting. Now, she isn’t wrong, but someone should probably tell her that we are in the middle of a pandemic.

More yelling ensued including the poll workers calling for help to two security guards who really didn’t know what they should be helping with, the mask-less woman then saying she was being denied her right to vote, the people in the line behind me starting to stir, etc. It was a cacophony of sound that reminded me how divided we are as a country. Not just politically, but in many ways. More yelling. Now the mask-less woman started to say to the poll worker, “I know you are scared but it’s not a big deal,” to which the poll worker replied, “Can someone get Typhoid Mary out of here!” I don’t actually know what became of this situation because a man in a wheelchair was wheeled through them in order to vote and there was a dispersal of some sort.

So finally, I’m in! I go to my district desk and I have to say, I was impressed with the all of the precautions in place for this time of COVID. There was a plexiglass between myself and the poll workers, individual pens were handed out, and tablets were used to sign in instead of that large book that everyone always touches. The pens they gave out had the squishy end on it so I could write on the tablet without touching it! I made my way to the next line to wait for a privacy station. Here we go, folks! The bubbling! I bubble my choices with the most artful care because I want to be 100% certain that my vote is counted. This is my time to make my wishes known. This is my right and privilege as a human person… as a human citizen.

I won’t get too political.

Now it’s on to the final line! Time to put my choices in the scanner to be counted. This is it! I try to find the end of the line and then I hear someone yelling. Of course, it looked like I was trying to cut. I honestly just didn’t know that wasn’t the end of the line. I turn to the woman who is red in the face, and I apologize and say, “I didn’t know.” I make my way to the back of the line (I was successful in finding it this time), and I can’t help but wonder why she jumped to yelling. I don’t know her, but there could be any number of reasons. The could be one of those New Yorkers that hates lines (don’t get mad, you know it’s true), she could have had a pressing issue she needed to get to, she could have any sort of reason to be so on edge. I think this was a great reminder that you do not know what is happening in another person’s life, so that is why I choose to practice kindness. She could have just been a miserable human being, but maybe, she saw my kindness and thought better of yelling at the next person who just couldn’t see where the windy line was going. Maybe.

I get to ALMOST the end of the line, and I see the original poll worker who screamed at the mask-less lady come bounding through the long line for the scanner. She has clogs on, so her steps created that clomping noise that seemed to reverberate off the bodies all waiting for the lone scanner. You see, folks. Only one scanner was working. The poll worker wearing clogs starts to say that they should switch to “emergency mode” and collect ballots so that the line would go down and the people outside wouldn’t be cold. I am at the penultimate position now. It’s almost my turn to approach the lone working scanner. I looked at the poll worker standing next to me and I say, “I’m sorry, but my vote is going in the scanner.” She has a mask and a face shield on, but I can tell that she smiled at me. She says, “Of course!”

It’s my turn. I walk up and prepare to insert my vote. THIS IS IT! I place my vote in the scanner and I stand there until it says, “Thank you for voting.” I had to be sure that it counted. My vote had to count.